The Art of Curating Romance - Chapter 4 Part 1

He hadn't seen Natalie since his lecture and that incident on the stairwell. It was painful, but he tried to convince himself that it a relief, really. He'd never lost control over himself like that before, and he wasn't sure why he desired her so. Clearly, she didn't want anything to do with him. Even if she'd responded to his kisses so enthusiastically. 

Regardless, he agreed with her that it was better for the both of them if he just kept his distance. Stayed away from the museum all together. 

But two weeks later, it all came roaring back to life with a forwarded email.

Martin read it three times, as if that might change the contents.

To: Martin Laurent
From: Department Chair
Subject: FWD: Spring Seminar: Museum Partnership Opportunity

Martin,
In light of your proposal for the graduate seminar on “Art and Influence in the Renaissance: Botticelli and The Great Masters,” I’ve looped in the university museum’s assistant curator, Natalie Rosetti. The museum has agreed to collaborate for in-gallery sessions and a student-curated final project. Natalie will be your point person moving forward.
Looking forward to seeing this take shape.
Dean Roth

Martin stared at the screen. For a moment, he said nothing. Then:

“Bollocks. Of course she would be,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair.

-

The first planning meeting was set for Thursday afternoon at an office in the museum’s reference library.

Natalie was already there when he arrived. She was seated at the long oak table, laptop open, Post-It notes fluttering like color-coded petals around her coffee. She looked up when he entered, impassive, and offered a tight, professional nod.

"Professor Laurent. Keep the door open please."

He stiffened. So formal. He decided to play it cool and echo the approach. "Ms. Rosetti."

The air between them had gone sharp and uncertain. But that didn't mean that he didn't ache for her. How could he not, seeing her there with her beautiful mahogany hair, her soft, kissable lips, the little pencil skirts she often wore. She was wearing one today, he saw, with golden buttons all the way down to the tops of her knees where it ended. He wanted to rip off those buttons, tear away the fabric...

But no. Now they really were colleagues. Collaborators. 

He couldn't afford to entertain such thoughts.

Natalie gestured to a second chair, not meeting his eyes. “The department wants the students to engage directly with the works. That means object-based sessions, collection access, and according to Dean Roth, ‘cross-functional co-teaching.’”

Martin sat slowly. “Quite a lot of words for ‘play it by ear.’”

Her eyes flickered, almost with a hint of humor. “I’ve heard worse mandates.”

They began to outline the semester together: alternating classroom discussions and in-gallery visits, culminating in a small exhibition designed and written by the students. Martin would guide the theory. Natalie would guide the materials.

“You can’t expect them to write wall text after one week of iconographic analysis,” she said.

“They’re grad students,” Martin replied. “They’re fueled by anxiety and caffeine. They’ll be fine.”

"And what about that collections lab visit? You can't be serious."

"They need to see it in person. You of all people know that seeing it in real life isn't the same as seeing it in a book."

“You’re trusting them with our objects.”

“You say that like you don’t trust anyone.”

Natalie shot him a look. “I don’t.”

Martin gave a faint smile. “Oh, believe me. I am aware.”

“Hmph.”

"Regardless, I do think that this book would be the best foundational text." He tapped his fingers on the hefty textbook he'd put on the table.

Her eyebrows rose. "A book? Students don't bother reading hefty books for a once a week class. It should be based on academic papers."

He rolled his eyes. "You think I don't know that? Just take a look. We don't have to assign them all of it." He pushed the book her way. As she reached for it, their fingers accidentally brushed. An electric shock wound through Martin, and he thought he saw Natalie flinch visibly.

She kept a cool facade, however. She started flipping through the textbook, ignoring him as he watched her hard, focused expression.

“You should give lectures too," he then told her.

"Me?" she said in surprise, looking up from the book.

"Who else?"

She stared at him then. Longer than she meant to.

He knew what the real problem was for her. Or at least, he imagined he did. Why she was so prickly, why this collaboration didn't come naturally for her, even if it hadn't been charged with desire. Because at the end of the day, he knew that she spoke the same dialect of ambition, caution, and bruised pride as he once did. 

“We'll think about it. I’ll send you a draft schedule,” she said, abruptly, giving the book back to him and gathering her papers.

He stood as she did, voice quieter now. “Natalie—”

“Don’t.”

She paused at the doorway, back still to him. He couldn't help but look at her pencil skirt. How perfectly it shaped and teased her curves.

“We agreed,” she said. “This is professional.”

He swallowed and turned his gaze away from her. “I didn’t say otherwise.”

She didn't reply. Just looked back once, and their eyes met again.

Something flickered between them. The hunger from before, restrained.

Then she was gone.

-

Part 2 available - includes Spice (18+) scene!